Page 43 of No Strings Attached
Amira is standing there in a knit dress that hugs her just right, soft waves in her hair, lips tinted pink like she didn’t try too hard but still manages to gut me. She blinks at me, looks at the flowers, then back at me, and I catch the little flicker ofoh noin her eyes.
She already knows she’s in trouble.Join the club.
“Wow.” I let my eyes drag down, then up again. “You look beautiful, Mira.”
A blush rises to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
I hold out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
Amira takes them, her fingers brushing mine. “Thank you. You’re really leaning into this date thing, huh?”
“Yup.”
She stares at me, trying not to smile. “Let’s see if you survive the first one.”
First one?
I cock a brow. “So you’re already planning the second?”
Her cheeks flush just enough to give her away. “Don’t get cocky.”
“No promises,” I say with a grin. “But I like that you’re thinking long-term.”
“God,” she mutters. “This is going to be a long night.”
Challenge accepted. “Better buckle up then, Temptress.”
At the car, I open the door for her—because I’mthatguy tonight. When she’s settled, I get in and pull away from the cottage with one hand on the wheel and a ridiculous urge to reach over and hold hers with the other. But I don’t.
“Where are we going?” Amira asks after a few minutes, watching the town slip by outside the window.
“You’ll see.”
We drive toward the edge of the marina, where the lights fade and the road narrows, hugging the coastline. After another few minutes, I pull into the small lot of The Buoy Shack, a coastal burger joint that’s been here since I was a kid.
“What is this place?”
I smirk, reaching for the door handle. “Best seafood burgers in the state.” I glance over at her. “You’re not allergic to seafood, are you?”
Amira laughs. “Shouldn’t that have been something you askedbeforebringing me to a seafood place?”
“I take my chances.”
“Well, lucky for you,” she says, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine, “I don’t have any allergies.”
“Then we’re golden.”
I already know I’m not going to make it through this night without wanting to kiss her again and again. Because Amira looks like summer, sweetness, and trouble wrapped in wool and perfume—and somehow, that smile of hers might actually kill me.
The smell of grilled seafood hits us the second we step up to the ordering window—crispy shrimp, charred lemon, garlic butter. Amira lets out a soft, involuntary hum under her breath, and I grin.
“Told you.”
“Okay, okay. But I’m reserving judgment until after the first bite.” She scans the chalkboard menu with a faux-serious expression. “Though I will say… the atmosphere isverynautical dive meets charmingly-questionable.”
“Welcome to New England,” I joke.
We order a lobster BLT for me, a crab cake burger for her, and grab a seat at one of the picnic tables under the canopy of string lights. The breeze coming off the water is brisk, but Amira simply pulls her coat tighter around her and doesn’t complain.
